I awoke this morning at 7am to a string of text messages. 12 of ’em. And, yeah, 11 of them were from Louise telling me about the adventure she had last night. But one of them was from my boss. It just said, “Honeyboy died last night. Seriously, we were so lucky to see him.” Of course i knew to whom he was referring. It was a terrible way to start my day.
I knew very little of of David ‘Honeyboy’ Edwards before I first saw him in concert in 2008. He had a record that came out on the Folkways label in the 70s. He was a contemporary of guys like Robert Johnson. He was there the night Johnson drank the poison whiskey which killed him. His account of the events have since become known as the definitive version of the events. Honeyboy was one of the original delta blues guitarists. That’s why I chose to see him on tour for the first time in 2008.
At the time he was 93 years old. I couldn’t believe his stage presence. His playing sounded a little sloppy but he still had it. It took a while for me to realize he knew exactly what he was doing, and that he was full of improvisations and tricks. He liked to screw with his backing band, change time signatures abruptly and force everyone to follow his lead. It was fun, and brilliant, and Honeyboy was a master showman. That year he won a Grammy for best traditional blues album. The album was Last Of The Great Mississippi Delta Bluesmen: Live in Dallas. It featured Honeyboy playing live in 2004 with Pinetop Perkins, Henry James Townsend, and Robert Lockwood Jr. All of the men were between the ages of 89 and 94 at the time. Honeyboy would eventually be the last to go.
In 2010 I saw him again at the same bar. He played for hours. The bartender at the club told me that Honeyboy and his crew had closed down the bar the night before, hanging around drinking and telling stories until 4am. This was a 95-year-old guy drinking and celebrating and having fun while most of the city’s younger population was at home in bed. At 95 he still toured between 60 and 70 dates each year. On stage that night he was all business. That year he won a Grammy Lifetime Achievement award.
I wrote after the last time I saw him, “I hope all of you take the opportunity to see him if he comes to your town. It is truly a life-affirming experience, watching someone 70 years my senior smile and joke and posture on stage. I cannot explain the joy I feel when I receive a glimpse of an era that passed long before my time. It’s palpable whenever he plays. You’ll see what I mean when you attend one of his shows.”
Unfortunately, there will be no more Honeyboy concerts. He was found in his Chicago apartment this morning. Congestive heart failure was deemed the cause of death. His manager, Michael Frank said of him, “He had photographic memory of every fine detail of his entire life. All the way up until he died. He had s much history that other musicians didn’t have and he was able to tell it…That piece of the history from that generation, people have to read about it from now on, they won’t be able to experience the way the early guys played [the blues], except somebody who’s learned it off a record.”
Of his own life, in his younger years, Honeyboy spoke about the life of an itinerant blues musician. He said, “On Saturday, somebody like me or Robert Johnson would go into one of these little towns, play for nickels and dimes. And sometimes, you know, you could be playin’ and have such a big crowd that it would block the whole street. Then the police would come around, and then I’d go to another town and where I could play at. But most of the time, they would let you play. Then sometimes the man who owned a country store would give us something like a couple of dollars to play on a Saturday afternoon. We could hitchhike, transfer from truck to truck, or if we couldn’t catch one of them, we’d go to the train yard, ’cause the railroad was all through that part of the country then…we might hop a freight, go to St. Louis or Chicago. Or we might hear about where a job was paying off – a highway crew, a railroad job, a levee camp there along the river, or some place in the country where a lot of people were workin’ on a farm. You could go there and play and everybody would hand you some money. I didn’t have a special place then. Anywhere was home. Where I do good, I stay. When it gets bad and dull, I’m gone”
I’m sure wherever he is now, Honeyboy is doing good. Truly it was an honor and a privilege to meet him and watch him play. I consider the two concerts I saw to be two of the most important musical events of my life. My boss was right, I was so lucky to be able to see him perform.
Rest in peace, Honeyboy.
– Just A Spoonful [MP3]
– Spread My Raincoat Down [MP3]
